


We Didn't Start The Fire

by mtn_dew_red



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz (Two River Cast) Actor RPF, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, But Worse, Fighting, Fire, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Michael Mell Dies, Other, Party, Post-Song: Michael in the Bathroom (Be More Chill), Rich Goranski Sets Fire to Jake Dillinger's House, Squipped Jeremy Heere, implied pining, smoke inhalation, the bathroom intervention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtn_dew_red/pseuds/mtn_dew_red
Summary: The bathroom intervention scene of be more chill... only worse. It's exactly what you think it is.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	We Didn't Start The Fire

Michael lays in the bathtub, the cool, white porcelain pressed against his skin in a way that makes chills run up his arms and down his spine. Even through his bulky disguise he can feel it on the backs of my calves, chilling him as the dull thump of party music and the continuous chatter of the partygoer crowd roars outside of the door.Michael vaguely recognizes the song as something by Joy Division, and if he didn’t find himself in the situation he’s currently in right now, he would be dancing and singing along, just as he would if the song were playing through his headphones. 

Something about this is calming, though. The distant noise and the cool bathtub against him. It feels almost as if he’s not about to make the single biggest confrontation of his life in a few moments. He’d seen Jake run upstairs after Jeremy, and as soon as the coast was clear, the costume-clad boy had bolted it for the upstairs bathroom. If he knew Jeremy well enough, it wouldn’t be long until he came in here for a breather. Jeremy was never good at picking fights- especially not with sporty types like Jake Dillinger. 

Soon enough, almost as if on cue, the sound of sneakers squeaking on the wood panel floor as Jeremy slips into the bathroom and slams the door behind him can be heard. Michael hones in on the noise, listening as Jeremy locks the door and breathes out a sigh of relief. He sounds out of breath, and internally Michael is begging that when he finally reveals himself and speaks up, he’ll be able to get through to his best friend of twelve years. Jeremy was always so thick headed… he just hoped maybe for once, it would be different. Maybe the evidence he had would be enough to scare him straight. 

Michael listens intently as Jeremy shuffles around the bathroom, mumbling incoherently to himself and catching his breath. He can just barely hear mumbles of ‘shit’ and ‘Chloe’, but nothing too decipherable. Jeremy sits on the edge of the tub, completely oblivious that Michael is even there, and huffs out a breath before resting his head on his hands. “God, what am I gonna do…” the brunette groans, sounding worn out and ready to go home, if anything. Michael almost feels sorry for him. Slowly, carefully, Michael lifts his hand, placing it on top of Jeremy’s. 

The scream that is pulled from the taller, thinner boy's throat is almost comical; high in pitch and screechy. Not unlike that of a mountain lion call, really. It takes everything Michael has to not begin laughing as he sits up, revealing himself. He pushes his glasses up on his noise, staring at Jeremy with purpose and watching his friend’s look change from that of fear to one of confusion. “‘Sup?” Michael ejects, face rigid and unreadable. Jeremy blinks up at him from his spot on the tile floor of the bathroom, eyebrow raised in question as his eyes flicker over Michael’s face. God, he hadn’t seen that face for a long time. “M-Michael? I didn’t know you were invited to this party…” 

Jeremy picks himself up off of the floor, wiping his ass off and staggering to both of his feet. Michael shrugs, beginning to stand up as well and shrugging off his disguise (which had consisted of paper trash, solo cups, and beer cans. He wanted to be completely invisible until Jeremy got there). “I wasn’t.” The Filipino explains, stepping out of the tub carefully as to avoid falling flat on his face and embarrassing himself. “Which is why I’m wearing this… clever disguise.” He gestures to the now messy heap of trash in the bathtub, seeing the way that Jeremy’s mouth is perpetually hung open, as if on a hinge. His expression reminds Michael vaguely of that of a goldfish. He entertains the thought of a soft ‘bloop’ sound coming from Jeremy’s mouth every time his jaw opens and closes as he fights with his words, none of which coming out. 

“You’re speechless.” He notes, taking Jeremy’s silence as an invitation to keep talking. “SQUIP got your tongue?” 

That last comment makes Jeremy visibly flinch, and Michael almost feels bad. The taller boy sways on his feet, giving away just how intoxicated he really was. Damn. Michael figured Jeremy was a lightweight, but… he didn’t see Jeremy even TOUCH alcohol up until he went upstairs with Chloe. What did he take? Jeremy cuts through Michael’s train of thought, derailing it as he finally speaks. “No, it… it’s off.” He explains, tone riddled with guilt in a way that makes Michael’s blood boil. He SHOULD feel guilty. Especially after blowing him off like he had been for nearing a month now. 

“Yeah, that would explain why you’re talking to me.” Michael says, sounding bitter and angry. He can tell Jeremy feels bad when he stares down at the floor, and the shorter boy takes a moment to revel in the fact that his words just might get through to him tonight. “I was thinking about this moment, what I was going to say to you? I had this really… pissed off monologue. An epic journey through twelve YEARS of friendship…” he says, trailing off once he looks up and sees the faint smile on Jeremy’s face. God, he wants to slap that expression right off of him. What a little shit. “What?” he questions, eyebrows knitting. 

Jeremy shakes his head. “It’s just…” he lets out a breathy sort of laugh, almost disbelieving. “It’s just really good to see you, man.” he admits, and Michael hates the way that the fact Jeremy had actually missed him makes his heart feel heavy in his chest. He pushes the thought away immediately, blowing him off. “Yeah? Well it won’t be, once you hear what I found out.”

The taller of the two stares at Michael incredulously with an expression of confusion. “Found out?”

Michael taps his temple with his fingertip, brows both raised for emphasis. “About…” he begins, and Jeremy catches on before he can say anything else, eyes widening. He takes a step towards Michael. “But- How? There’s nothing on the internet-”

“Which is WEIRD, right?” Michael interrupts, cutting his friend short and waving his hands in front of him as he talks- a bad habit he’d tried to kick years ago but failed at. “I mean, what’s not on the internet?...” He cards a hand through his straight, black hair, shaking his head as his fingertips graze his scalp. Michael breathes a sigh. “So, I started asking around… and finally, this dude I play Warcraft with told me how his brother went from a straight ‘D’ student to a freshman at Harvard… know where he is now?”

Jeremy shakes his head, almost as if he’s not quite understanding the relevance of this conversation or what Michael is even saying. He shrugs. “Really happy and successful?” he guesses, missing the point entirely just as he would if he were throwing darts blindly at a dartboard. Michael’s shoulders slump. “He’s in a mental hospital, Jeremy.” Michael says, after a beat, and he can see the shock that flashes over Jeremy’s features, even if only for a brief moment. Jeremy’s expression freezes over again, however, and he clears his throat. “I don’t see what that has to do with-”

“THINK, man!” Michael yells, cutting him off as he feels anger bubble under the surface of his skin. Jeremy wasn’t LISTENING. He wasn’t getting it. This was his one chance after weeks of being ignored to get through to him, and he was blowing it. “We’re talking about an insanely powerful supercomputer. You honestly think it’s primary function is to get you LAID?” He asks, and Jeremy opens his mouth to respond, but Michael speaks again before he can. “Who made them?” He questions, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did they end up in a high school? IN NEW JERSEY?”

“Of all possible applications for such a… a mind-blowingly advanced technology…” He points a finger in Jeremy’s direction, jutting it out to poke harshly at his chest to emphasize his next words. “Do you ever wonder what it’s doing inside of YOU?” Jeremy staggers back a little, staring at Michael like he’s scum on the bottom of one of his converse shoes. He shakes his head, crossing his thin arms over his chest. “And I thought Chloe was jealous…” He spits, venomous, and Michael would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little hurt being compared to the aggressive Chloe Valentine. “I’m honestly asking…” He says, shaking his head and raising his hands in defense. 

“Really? Because I think that you’re just pissed I have one, and you don’t.” Jeremy bites back, narrowing his eyes into tiny slits. If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d compare the stare to that of a snake’s when it’s about to strike. He huffs out a frustrated sigh. “C’mon, man…” He begins, but Jeremy speaks up and cuts him off before he can say much else. “Y’know, maybe I got lucky! Is that so weird? I mean, with MY history, I’d say the universe owed me one.” He stares down at Michael, looking angry and hurt, and Michael wants nothing more than to scream and cry and kick a wall, because god damn it, this was not how this conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to have given Jeremy mountain dew red by now. Jeremy continues babbling on, waving his hands in the air frantically. “And look, I don’t know about your friend’s… brother’s…. WHATEVER, but if you’re saying that his SQUIP made him crazy-”

“His SQUIP didn’t make him crazy.” Michael interjects, making Jeremy freeze in his tracks. The thin, freckled boy lets his arms drop to his sides, shaking his head. “Alright, then, there you go-”

“HE WENT CRAZY TRYING TO GET IT OUT!”

Michael’s scream cuts through the air, making the bathroom go eerily still despite the consistent bump of the music outside and the mumbles outside of the door. Michael can feel tears begin to well in his eyes, shaking with anger and fists tightened into little balls at his sides. His whole body is rigid and tensed up, and the expression that sits on Jeremy’s face says that Jeremy has never seen Michael look this way before. Not even during their little fights in grade school. His throat bobs as he forces back the urge to cry, and Jeremy stares at the floor. “Then, I’ve got nothing to worry about, why would I want that?”

Jeremy moves to grab the door handle and leave, but Michael walks in front of him, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him backwards, preventing his exit. He stares up at Jeremy challengingly. Jeremy grunts, frustrated. “Come on, man, move it.” He grumbles, trying to push Michael out of his way, but Michael stands his ground. The Filipino laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “Or you’ll what?”

Jeremy looks off to the side, and Michael can see the cogs of his brain turn as he searches for a response. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head regretfully before locking eyes with Michael again. “Get out of my way.” He says, voice flat and cold in a way that Michael has never heard before. “Loser.” 

Michael steps aside, letting Jeremy pass as the word bounces around his skull, prickling on his skin like ice and making a fresh round of tears spring to the edges of his eyes. He’s quick to shut the door after Jeremy leaves, pressing his back against the wood and allowing the beginnings of tears to slip down his cheeks. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was not supposed to end up in this way. This was not how he had planned this conversation in his brain. He slides down the door, ass hitting the tile floor too hard and burying his face into his knees, sobbing openly. Through the door, there comes a pounding, and to say Michael jumped would be an understatement. His heart races, and he clutches his chest. 

“Hellooo?” A voice calls, impatient. “Others have to pee!”

Michael thinks of the first thing that comes to mind, blurting out a high pitched “I’m having my period!” and successfully drawing the person away from the door of the bathroom so he can cry in peace. Outside, ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ by Whitney Houston has started, and the once cheery tune sounds almost somber to Michael’s ears. He stands shakily, moving to sit on the edge of the tub. He picks at the grout under the lip of the porcelain, flicking it onto the ground as his mind races across a million thoughts at once. Thoughts of Jeremy. Thoughts of their friendship. Thoughts of the good times and the bad… it’s all too much for him to handle. He presses his palms to his ears, the sounds of the party outside fading and the sounds of his own mind overtaking him. 

Shakily, carefully, he makes his way up and to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing water in his face. It does practically nothing to calm him down, and he only ends up staring into the mirror in disgust, tears streaking down his tanned cheeks and dripping from his chin to pool on the marble countertop. 

“God, I’m such a loser…” He whispers, voice strained and gravelly. 

Outside, the sounds of the party have come to an abrupt stop, and he spins around, eyes narrowing. The music was no longer playing, and he could hear… screaming? He walks closer to the door, pressing his ear to it and listening. There was this odd sort of noise coming from outside, one he couldn’t place, and it made him grow anxious. He goes to turn the knob, hissing and withdrawing his hand once he feels the temperature of the metal. Jesus, that was fucking hot! He staggers backward, confused and disoriented. What the hell?

He watches as wisps of black smoke begin to pour through the cracks of the doorframe, rising to the ceiling in ribbons. Finally, Michael realizes what is happening, and his heart begins racing. Holy shit, the house was on fire. He falls back against the sink in panic, grappling for a hand towel. There was no way he’d make the jump from the window… so he’d have to crawl through the smoke, down to the first floor, and out of the door. The thought terrified him, but the thought of dying from jumping out of the window scared him more. He soaks the towel in the sink, going for the door handle and turning it carefully. When the door swings open, Michael is met with a wall of black smoke. The smell immediately fills his nostrils, making him cough and sputter and his eyes water as tears roll down his face. He chokes, bringing his sweatshirt up to cover his mouth and nose. 

He gags, feeling nauseous as he falls back onto the tile, hitting his head rather harshly and glasses skidding across the room. Now nearly blind and disoriented, Michael writhes about on the floor, lungs filled with smoke and eyes filled with stinging, acidic tears. “He-elp!” He chokes out, struggling to his hands and knees and crawling across the floor to the window. He coughs, chest feeling tight and lungs stinging. It hurt. He blindly fumbles for the window latch, eyes squinted and flooded with tears. God, he couldn’t fucking see, this was impossible. Defeated, he staggers around until his knees hit the tub, and he falls into which, curling up into a ball and coughing until he feels his throat begin to bleed. He can taste the iron in his mouth. 

He can feel his eyelids grow heavy, unable to see in the black smoke and asphyxiating. This was it. This was how he would die- alone in the bathroom of a party that he wasn’t even invited to. So alone. Always alone. He sees white at the corners of his vision, ears filling with the sounds of radio static and feeling dizzy. So tired. Exhausted. He sputters, heart seizing in his chest as he begins to pass out, the back of his head thunking against the white tub.

In his last few moments of consciousness, Michael thinks of Jeremy. He thinks of his blue eyes, and his wavy brown hair. He thinks of the boy's freckles, and his smile. That dorky smile that Michael wanted to kiss right off of him, but never could. 

In an instant, the thoughts are gone, replaced only with black and the fading noises of fire alarms down the hallway. It all slips away as Michael falls down, down, down. Further into nothingness and overwhelming dark. It was all there, just a moment ago, and now… there was nothing. 

Empty.


End file.
